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"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" Amy asked with closed eyes, desperately trying not to think about exactly how deep the plunge into the Atlantic Ocean below would be if the plane should--God forbid--malfunction.
Claire pried her fingers out of the death grip of her best friend. "We talked about this, remember? Your birthday? We decided to go backpacking. Starting in Venice."
"I thought you were talking about California."
"Very funny. You have been dreaming of going to Italy since I've known you. And that's been ... forever."
"But I hate flying."
"Oh, stop whining. This will be perfect. Italy! And even better: Italians!"
Amy opened one eye to shoot her friend an evil glare. Claire ignored her. "Which reminds me. I have a present."
Amy's eyes flew open. "My birthday is a week away. Don't give it to me. That's bad luck."
"It's not a regular present." Claire's voice came from inside the big shoulder bag without which she seemed unable to exist. Coming up again, she handed Amy a small fire engine red diary. "See, it's not even wrapped. Besides, you'll need this."
"As a travelogue? That's nice." Amy hugged her friend.
"Don't be ridiculous. This is to record your erotic exploits."
"Excuse me?"
"What's the use of going to Italy if you are not going to sample the local men? After the day in Venice, we part ways and meet a week later in Rome. More than enough time for both of us to do the dirty deed. Deeds, I hope."
Amy was till staring at her friend in shock. But Claire wasn't finished.
"We are going to rate the men we sleep with. A five star scale should do, I think."
"A five star scale," repeated Amyweakly.
"Like on Amazon," came a helpful voice over Claire's shoulder.
Claire swiveled to glower at the man in the seat next to her. "I was talking to my friend."
"And I've been listening with mounting interest." Both women stared at the handsome stranger; Amy coloring with embarrassment, Claire clearly annoyed.
"Ben Hunter," he introduced himself, shaking Claire's hand and nodding over to Amy. Amy felt herself smiling at him before she could stop it. Claire snatched her hand back and looked at him like he had a contagious disease. He kept a straight face, even though his clear blue eyes sparkled with unholy amusement. "Don't mind me. Please, just go on."
Claire favored him with a last look that told him she considered him a barely sentient life form and turned back to Amy. "So, you like it?"
"I most emphatically don't!"
"Oh, get over it, Amy. You are a beautiful woman. These are your best years. How much more are you going to waste? You haven't had a date since you dumped that loser last year. Don't get me wrong. I approve--that you dumped him, I mean."
"I've had dates," Amy replied defensively.
Claire snorted. "Yeah, right. I meet more men in a month than you have in the last year. Hell, I bed more men in a month."
They had had this discussion way too many times. Still, Amy tried. Again. "I have high standards."
"And I'm all for that, honey. I have high standards too."
"You have the standards of an alley cat," Amy told her friend.
Claire tried, and failed, to act offended. "Well, whatever you say, let me tell you this: high standards won't keep you warm at night. Or in the daytime, for that matter. Besides, I'm just a naturally hot blooded woman."
"You're a tramp, Claire."
"That, too." She grinned. "Oh, come on. This is going to be fun."
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